


He put on his smile

by SilverLynxx



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF
Genre: Angst, Hiddle!feels, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:33:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverLynxx/pseuds/SilverLynxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He stared, forced himself to watch as the man laughed and clasped his wife, his love, before everyone; forced himself to endure the pain in the hope that his heart would finally understand. But all it did was clench and tremble in his chest, aching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He put on his smile

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my dear friend [Paper Chimes](http://paperchimes.tumblr.com/) when she broke the Hiddlesworth tag on Tumblr with her angst with this image ([X](http://paperchimes.tumblr.com/post/21435884280/ikol-liesmith-silverlynxcat-paperchimes)) on which this fic was based :)

The area practically vibrated with the energy contained within the walls. The music was a constant hum in the background, joined by the murmurs and cheers of a thousand or so voices which rolled across the room like a tremor of thunder which shook him to his bones. The excitement was palpable.  
  
It should have lit a spark in him, had him skimming the masses, that reached for him still, with a broad grin and words of appraisal for the drawings of various skill thrust under his nose.  
  
But the air was oppressive. The noise pressed against him, making any individual sounds, any distinct voice, impossible to distinguish amongst the clamour. It should have helped, should have been a reprieve, a distraction. But alas he could still _see_ , and what he saw speared him with a pain he knew he had no right to feel so deeply.

The cameras flashed in blinding, greedy succession. They took in every inch of muscular blond, threw shadows across his strong jaw and made light dance in the nervous, excited, beautiful blue eyes. They flicked up to scour the sea of lenses before settling, soft and loving, on the delicate blonde beauty he had tucked under his arm.  
  
Everything hurt. The way they cradled their bodies together so perfectly. The way he stood, proud and possessive at her side. The way his large hand cradled her swollen tummy with such gentle awe and fierce protectiveness for all the world to see. The tummy that swathed their child; Chris’ child.  
  
And Tom stood, alone and…and _lost_.  
  
He stared, forced himself to watch as the man laughed and clasped his wife, his love, before everyone; forced himself to endure the pain in the hope that his heart would finally understand. But all it did was clench and tremble in his chest, aching.  
  
He knew he had gotten too close, had set himself up for his own downfall; all for a feeling he had been unable to repress, that had made him seek Chris’ presence, his closeness at every premiere. His eyes had always sought for a blond head several inches above the crowd, hunted desperately for a glimpse of the soulful blue eyes that always made his heart stutter feverishly in his chest. He’d been unable to resist touching, to resist sliding up to Chris for the merest of contact, unable to resist falling deeper in love with the man he simply could not have.  
  
Elsa’s absence - sweet, beautiful, loving Elsa - had allowed for Tom to forget reality, to get swept up in the rush of the crowds; where Chris was there and they were laughing and touching, and Tom’s heart had swollen so full that it felt like his ribs would shatter from trying to contain the amount of emotion filling him so completely.  
  
And then they had come to London. It was meant to have been the highlight of his tour; he was coming home and returning a celebrity, and Chis would be there, by his side, his hand a burning brand upon his shoulder, pressed against his back.  
  
But reality had caught up, and Tom knew he had only himself to blame when he’d been forced to fend of the tightening in his throat as he’d watched Chris from back stage, watched him sweep onto the carpet and immediately embrace his wife and hold her close.  
  
It had hurt. It still hurt. And it confused him as emotions of pain and bittersweet warmth warred within him as he stood silent and far-away, hearing and feeling nothing but seeing every loving brush of hands and lips shared between the couple.  
  
Oh how it ached, knowing the man he loved could never be his; that he was expecting a child with a beautiful woman with whom he could not, and would not, compete, because Chris was _happy_ , and Tom knew he couldn’t come between that. They had eyes only for each other, Elsa’s loving and Chris’ adoring and protective. Tom was jealous, he was hurt and confused and heartbroken, but first and foremost he was Chris’ friend; so he would smile, and he would laugh and would congratulate Chris despite the fact that inside his heart was shattering.  
  
He inhaled deeply, his eyes stinging, and jumped when a hand settled on his shoulder. He turned his head to come face to face with Robert, and he felt the grip on his shoulder tighten slightly. Tom, forever an actor and a mask, forced a smile, bright and carefree.  
  
“Quite an evening isn’t it?” he intoned, unable to refrain his eyes from trailing back to Chris and Elsa, flinching when Chris’ deep laugh carried through the noise and made his heart stammer.  
  
“You Brits certainly know how to make a guy feel welcome,” Robert agreed with a hum. “How you holding up? It’s been a long day, you look a bit tired.”  
  
Tom knew he looked weary, he felt weary, drained. “I’m fine, just feeling a bit…overwhelmed.”  
  
He could have been referring to anything, but again the hand on his shoulder tightened a fraction and Robert was turning him, leading him away with a decisive sound as he slung his arm across Tom’s shoulders.  
  
“Well let’s go join Mark; I believe he’s posing with an array of Mini-hulks.”  
  
Tom didn’t say anything, but allowed himself to be led.  
  
But he looked back over his shoulder - at the couple, at Chris; Chris who had been at his side near constantly the past week, who’s absence Tom felt more potently than if he were missing his arm.

Chris, whom he’d tried to confess to, only to lose the words and have them replaced with a casual greeting; to be laughed off as if he hadn’t purposefully sought him out amongst the crowd.  
  
And silently he prayed, wished with the last flicker of evanescent hope that Chris would look up, would catch his eye and smile.  
  
But he didn’t look up. Chris cradled Elsa close, tenderly stroked her tummy and gazed at her with such love.  
  
Tom gave up, his heart crushed. He looked away.

It hurt.

He put on his smile.

But oh how it _hurt_.


End file.
